Clarity (The Admiral's Elite Book 3)

Copyright 2016 HK Savage

www.hksavage.com

Edited by Jaime Radyalac, Staccato Publishing

Cover Design by Para Graphic

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living, dead, and undead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Digital edition: June 2016

ISBN: 978-1-940202-22-8

Product of the USA

Clarity

book 3, The Admiral’s Elite

by HK Savage

Every story has an end, but in life, every end is a new beginning.

Chapter 1

“Hallbeck, get the hell over here.” Something whizzed past Captain Michael Rossi’s head causing him to duck and curse, though not in that order. He eased the barrel of his M4 slightly to the left, toward the muzzle flashes threatening to take his night from bad to worse.

The sound of heavy boots pounding ground interrupted the staccato “pop, pop, pop” of the enemy’s fully automatic gunfire set for three round bursts. At least one of their two shooters was a professional. Amateurs tended to blow their entire magazine in a blaze of white-hot glory whereas a trained soldier knew how to make it last. And when to change position.

Hallbeck was ducking beside Captain Rossi on the far side of an ancient truck that shockingly hadn’t exploded or just plain turned to dust under the hail of rounds. He shot him a lopsided grin. “You hit, Mike?” The huge Marine shook out his shaggy auburn hair, his own weapon’s barrel trained on their other shooter. “I think I have glass in my hair from that last little rain shower.”

“You’re going to have lead in your ass if Gabs doesn’t hurry up.” Michael’s eyes roamed the sky for the support that should have been there three minutes ago. Three minutes was nothing when you were doomed to live forever, though it was still a long time in a firefight. They should have been out after only two; they were at seven and counting. So much for their simple in and out op.

Ryan’s smile evaporated. “She’ll be here.” Grunting, he sighted down his barrel. “Where’d they get the weapons? This was supposed to be a seek and destroy on a shitty little goat herder’s heroin factory. What’s with all the firepower?” Scanning behind him, he did a quick sweep of the two little sheds they’d already blown up. Pieces of several bodies littered the ground between their current position and the stone wall erected to dissuade rival “farmers” from laying claim to their profits.

The home belonged to a local tribal leader of allegedly modest standing. Intelligence reports had him manufacturing heroin from poppy fields rumored to be legitimate croplands under US protection. Those same reports said these particular fields were not only being harvested, but certain US citizens who made their living on Capitol Hill were not only allowing production, they were profiting by it. Not their usual op, getting involved with strictly human affairs, but their leader, Admiral Black, tasked them with eliminating it. The rest of the team might be wondering why they were there, but not Captain Rossi, the admiral’s second in command. No, his question was, how did they know? This was to be a shot across the bow, a warning to those who not only lived dirty but were diverting funds from Black’s team toward their own special interests. Leave Black’s team alone. And on that, Michael agreed with the admiral; what they did was too important to be shut down by the greed of the corrupt looking for cash to fund one more house in the Hamptons, something red and Italian in the garage.

“I don’t know. Sure seems like someone knew we were coming and dressed for the occasion, doesn’t it?” Michael’s expression was grim. “Maybe we should track our Intel back to its source when we get home and see who had access.”

“Maybe find out who sold them those guns too.” Ryan raised an eyebrow, not looking amused all of a sudden. “Sure don’t sound like the usual Afghan flavor of AK. I’m thinking they sound more like our boys’ M4s.”

Any further discussion was rendered impossible by the arrival of a rather large, heavily armed Pave Low, the helicopter piloted by Captain Gabrielle Brion. Predictably, enemy rounds no longer flew at those on the ground, but turned to the greater threat dropping out of the sky. A second face hanging out the side door, visible to Michael and Ryan’s keen eyesight despite the darkness, brought an involuntary growl rumbling from Captain Rossi. That would be the fourth and final member of their team, his love, Captain Rebecca Sauter. Currently manning one of the mini-guns mounted on either side of the helicopter, she was open and taking fire. The thought of anyone shooting a
t
hi
s
Becca was cause enough to bring out the legendary vampire protectiveness; Hollywood managed to get that bit right.

Approximately three and a half seconds after the first muzzle flash from the large gun sticking out from the bird’s sleek grey side and the two “farmers” were no longer a threat. Both men behind the disintegrating truck quit hunching against the spray of glass in favor of squinting against the sand and rock fragments pelting their faces from the prop wash. A sharp nod from Michael and Gabrielle shifted the bird, setting it down outside the mud wall to make it easier for those on the ground to speak without getting a mouthful of grit. In a state of readiness, she kept the rotors going slowly round.

“I love that woman,” Ryan breathed, then just as soon as it was out, looked like he wanted to suck the sentiment back in. Or puke.

His comrade’s pale hand rested briefly on his shoulder. “Me too.” He offered him a stiff grin and, like any two men not at a poetry reading, they pretended they hadn’t just crossed into dangerously emotional territory. “Let’s go do what they’re paying us for.” Michael fished two full magazines from the pack by his feet and held one out.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Ryan took one, replacing the empty he ejected and tossed it into the open pack. “After you, Mike.”

While the sudden lack of gunfire didn’t leave the night quiet, both men’s sensitive ears felt like they were wrapped in cotton from its absence. The helicopter hummed from outside the wall. The whoosh of the idling rotors was as soothing to the men on the ground as a white noise machine on the bedside table. Hand signals eliminated the need to speak and alert the enemy to their method of attack. Michael, as unit leader, went first.

Swinging wide, he sought the protective shadows cast by the outer wall. The little amount of light in the area came from a lone halogen bulb mounted thirty feet above the courtyard driven by a generator, as was everything in this godforsaken desert. They met with no further opposition; the area gone completely dead after air support showed up. Michael called a halt at the edge of the shadow, preparing to make the ten-yard run to the front door and whatever lay within the last building to be breached. Any fighting from here on would be close quarters, using a gun would be a liability. He swung the stock out from his shoulder and propped his weapon against the truck, leaving his hands free.

Searching for motion, he saw nothing through the windows. Lights had been turned off inside leading him to believe the “shitty little heroin factory” had enough money behind it to afford night vision goggles for at least some of their men. Turning to face Ryan he smiled enough to show his fangs, his preferred close quarters combat weapons. Ryan would also see how his blue eyes turned black as he got ready to unleash the monster within. “Ready?”

Swinging his own weapon’s strap off and propping it against the truck’s holey shell, Ryan shrugged off his pack and began unbuttoning his black fatigue jacket. When Michael gave him a long-suffering look, Ryan’s grin returned.

“I can change and wreck my clothes in the process, but I got no backup in this pack. Doesn’t bother me to ride back to base naked, but folks might wonder.” He shrugged, casting a glance over his shoulder. “Your girlfriend might not mind the show.”

A low growl slipped through Michael’s lips and Ryan closed his mouth. With a practiced ease he pulled his black tshirt over his head, jamming it in his pack. A few more seconds and he was shoving his boots on top before zipping it closed.

Energy surged beside Michael and a huge cinnamon colored wolf with vibrant green eyes padded up to his shoulder. Michael nodded and they parted ways. Too fast for human eyes to track, Michael arrived to crouch beside the front door. Ryan loped around the back seeking the small door their report had shown was there. Given the speech limitations involved in working with a werewolf, communication devices were superfluous. Instead, they would each enter at their first opening. They’d done this a few times before.

Listening, Michael waited until he picked up the distinct sound of a shoe scuffing concrete. Knowing the moment was right, he reached for the door and let his monster run.

***

Becca waited, watching for movement on the ground, her fingertips tapping anxiously on the gun she still gripped. Quiet didn’t mean she could relax her vigilance.

Gabrielle sighed heavily. “Do you mind?” Patience wasn’t her strength. Nor was emotional support. “They’ve been inside less than a minute. Let them work.”

“I am.” Becca responded, her eyes remained fixed on the compound wall in front of them, waiting to see two familiar shadows slip over it. “It’s hard though. I can’t hear anything.”

“Yeah, hard for a human to track a fight without guns.” Gabrielle acted casual, however, a glance through the front seats showed her amber eyes trained on the wall just as intensely as hers. “Your aim’s improved on the guns.”

The rare compliment brought a quick grin to Becca’s taut features. Needing distraction, she loosed a question that had been bugging her for weeks. “What’s going on with you and Ryan?” Becca allowed another glance at the pilot and saw the blonde’s jaw was set.

“If you want to know what’s happening, why don’t you do you
r
thin
g
and see for yourself?” Her snide tone indicated how well Gabrielle regarded Becca’s ability to “jump” into Michael’s head and use his eyes to see.

Becca’s clairvoyance or second sight was the reason Admiral Black “recruited” her to the uber secret supernatural unit responsible for policing and protecting the world’s creatures, both enlisted and civilian. That her fellow soldiers didn’t share Admiral Black’s enthusiasm for her intrusive ability was an understatement, so she tried not to be obvious about it or do it in front of them unless it was absolutely necessary. Then there was the fact that jumping into Michael’s head had revealed his most closely guarded secret: that the admiral owned Michael. Not just your typical superior officer brand of loyalty; he’d bound the younger vampire. Soul bound forever, the two were joined until death did they part. Michael couldn’t keep a secret or move against the admiral even if he wanted to. It was Michael’s greatest fear that Black would one day command him to eliminate Becca and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. That was why, as much as he hated her jumping, he encouraged it so she could prove herself irreplaceable and secure her place with the unit.

She’d been with them for nearly six months and had shown herself to be a brave and selfless soldier. In the last few weeks she had met Black’s challenge that she learn to jump into more than just Michael or Ryan; two people she’d shared blood with. Although Black hadn’t told her why he wanted her skill stretched, both Michael and Becca knew it wasn’t going to be for dinner party entertainment. Exactly why they were keeping the fact she’d succeeded a secret was a point of contention between them. Becca thought it had something to do with the rash of trips Admiral Black and Michael had taken to DC lately, and perhaps the recent delays with shipments of supplies to their unit. In addition to the usual weaponry a military unit required, they needed certain types of silver and UV infused weapons and ammunition to do their jobs, they couldn’t just go to a sporting good store in a pinch. Their one human member  needed access to those special weapons moreso than the other three who, when push came to shove, could beat another supernatural creature with their own enhanced strength.

Becca worried if things got dire she could be seen as a liability. She’d been practicing with Michael and Ryan whenever they weren’t on missions, asking questions whenever she wasn’t getting her ass kicked by creatures ten times stronger than her. Her fighting was getting better and her understanding of the things that go bump in the night was showing improvement as well. Her commitment to knowing everything about this new world she found herself in included how to take a creature out of it. She hoped one day to be able to do it without the aid of a weapon. So far, results weren’t encouraging.

Before she could respond to Gabrielle’s comment a shadow crested the wall to their right, shifted, then changed shape. Holding her breath, Becca leaned forward and stared. From the front, Gabrielle let out a shaky breath and Becca felt her chest tighten. Spots danced at the edge of her vision, a warning of danger her sight afforded her, and one she was working to keep under wraps. When she didn’t keep it dialed back and real danger presented itself, in all its glory, Becca could be struck blind or lose her ability to physically see what was in front of her. Not good in a fight.

Ryan was over it, but where was Michael? It was a long time; a full count of eight before a second shadow crested the wall and Becca’s chest loosened a notch. She pitched forward against the tether that held her in the helicopter when she manned the gun at higher altitudes. “Come on guys,” she mumbled. “Come on, come on.”